Braving the New World
by HerbertGunther
Summary: Sylaire. Post - Brave New World. Claire faces the immediate consequences of her jump while Sylar looks to continue the road of redemption. Small OC part.
1. The Crash

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

This is my first ever fic. Not a native speaker and it's unbeta'd so please disregard any misspelling or grammatical errors. Please review if you have any comments. Rating this 'M' for language, violence, and probably some smut down the line.

Sylaire fic, that takes place directly after "Brave New World." So spoilers through the entire series.

* * *

"Shit."

Noah Bennet wasn't the kind of man that cursed very often, but when the occasion called for profanity, he wouldn't hesitate to let it out. The occasion called for it.

It had happened in a flash. She had changed the world and there was a pit deep in her stomach. She didn't know what was going to happen but she was tired of hiding her ability. It was a relief, for the first time she could remember she was in charge of her life not her ability.

The cameras pressed in closer, surrounding her. Microphones force down her throat with questions attached that she couldn't answer. She couldn't breathe or move. Claire stuttered. Her savior was probably the most disappointed person among the crowd.

Noah Bennet, who had tried to prevent this exact moment all of Claire's life, pushed in front of her. Shielding her from the flashing bulbs and reporters; he protected her even with his heart ripped out of his chest. His vague answers and attempts to deflect questions were obvious damage control. But, there wasn't anything to control now. Most of the news feed was going out live and none of the reporters were going to let a story like this die.

Noah turned around when he realized his daughter wasn't behind him anymore. He caught a glimpse of Claire being led away from the rabid reporters by the arm. Noah started answering more questions, drawing attention away from Claire's escape as her uncle pulled her along deeper into Central Park. His eyes met Peter's, and with a nod Peter disappeared behind a carnival booth.

"Peter… where are we going?" she questioned.

"They're finding a car on the other side of the park. We need to get you out of here," Peter answered not looking back at his niece. He dragged her the entire way, making sure nobody followed them.

The streetlights from above illuminated the small parking lot. Though cars filled the lot, only two figures stood within eyesight, an already running SUV next to them. The woman stood leaning against the driver's side door. The tall dark man stood with his back to them talking to her as Peter and Claire approached.

"Got one running?" Peter inquired placing his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Cars are a lot easier than watches," he said smiling and looking back at Peter. His eyes locked on the small blonde still being pulled along, the shock in them disclosing the fact that he didn't expect Claire to return with Peter. "Hello cheerleader."

Anger boiled over inside of her. She turned to Peter not acknowledging Sylar's greeting.

"Peter. What the hell is this? He- he-," she stuttered, so shocked and angered, that all words were lost. She could only think of one thing. It crept out of her mouth like a whisper. "He killed Nathan."

"It's a long story," Peter started to explain. "A very long story," he said glancing back at Sylar for a second. "But, what you just did… it changes everything. And… we will… we… we just have to get out of here. Especially, before the cameras come looking for you."

"News crews might be the least of our worries," Sylar said with a piercing glare going straight through Claire.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she said, still fuming from her father's murder's presence. Peter climbed into the driver's seat. Emma joined him in the front in the passenger's seat as they talked.

"It means get in the car," he quipped back calmly, opening the rear driver's side door for her. Coolly, she walked towards the open door but, instead quickly turned and threw a right cross up into Sylar's cheek. The unexpected punch rocked him. He stumbled back a few steps. Even with fire in his eyes, he clinched his fist and held them at his sides. At his sides even as Claire stepped forward to attack again. Seeing that he wasn't going to fight back she decided to opt for a combination. A fury left and rights struck his face.

Sylar fell backwards and landed on his side. He felt the impact of her boot on his nose. He felt it dislodge as blood poured out of his nostrils. Claire looked down at the man she was pummeling in time to she his nose shift back into place. Seeing her own ability used by him set her ablaze. But, to her consternation, she only got in two more good kicks before her uncle pulled away from Sylar's bloodied body.

"Damn it, Claire, calm down," Peter insisted.

"No. I am pretty sure I deserve a lot worse than that," Sylar said sitting up and realigning his jaw then wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of his dark coat.

"You're damn right you do, you son of a bitch," Claire yelled still flailing in Peter's grasp.

Peter turned Claire to face him, holding her by the shoulders.

"Claire, can you please just hold off for now. I will explain everything. But, this isn't the place or time to work through this."

"There isn't anything to 'work through,' Peter," she said through a set jaw, "He has to pay for all the people he's killed, the lives he's ruined."

"Your absolutely right, Claire," Sylar agreed, "I have paid and will continue to pay for what I have done. But, why don't we get to better scenery before you beat the hell out of me."

"I am not going to beat anything out of you," Claire murmured matter-of-factly with a satisfied smile on her face, "I am going to kill you."

"Claire, I said calm down," Peter yelled now officially annoyed with his niece, "And, please, don't threaten my friend's life."

"Your friend? Your friend?" the disgust in Claire's voice was palpable, "Let me tell you about some of the things your friend has done..."

"Claire! That's enough!" Claire recoiled as Peter's voice boomed through the parking lot. She had seen him mad but not like this. "Get in the car."

She pushed past him; her eyes still narrowed and fixed on Sylar as she stepped into the spacious SUV. Sylar went around the back of the car and got into the seat next her.

"So you're just going to stick me back here with _him_?" Claire snapped at her uncle.

"Emma this is Claire, she's me niece," Peter said ignoring Claire's question while putting the SUV in gear and exiting the parking lot. Emma turned around in her seat to look at Claire.

"Nice to meet you," Emma signed as she talked out of habit. "Samuel talked about you a lot."

"Nice to meet you, too," Claire responded, with an undertone of annoyance. Not with Emma, but being stuck in the backseat of a car with Sylar.

"Claire, how could you do that? Not everyone with an ability wants to be out in the open," Peter said prodding at her with his words.

"People are welcome to keep their secrets. I just was tired of mine," she said her forehead was now resting on the window as streetlights illuminated her face from the darkness every few seconds. She was, once again, not in control of her life, in the backseat of a car with no definite destination.

"I think it was courageous. Maybe not the best venue, but it was something no one else was brave enough to do," Sylar interjected.

"Oh thanks, I am really glad I have the approval of a murdering sociopath. That's exactly why I did it," she said, the nod of her head almost as sarcastic as her words. "Why don't you just leave us the hell alone."

"Claire don't talk to him like that," Peter commanded sternly.

"What is this? You guys are all buddy-buddy? And, now you're protecting him? Peter he murdered your brother and countless others. He cut my head open. And now you're picking him over me?" Her questioning had turned into screaming half way through her tirade.

"Claire, you know that's not true," he said reaching to the seat behind him offering his hand to her. "Claire, you're my family. You're my only real tie to Nathan."

"You sure your only tie to Nathan isn't the last person to have seen him alive, the person that lived as him for months?" she said nodding her head towards Sylar and folding her arms in front of her chest declining Peter's hand.

"Claire, I know it has to be terrible and strange for you, but I am a different person now. And I want to make it up to all the people I've hurt," Sylar said somberly. His words caught in his throat, "Well, the ones that are still alive."

"And you are buying this crap, Peter? Master manipulator here is playing you," Claire yelled, bearing her teeth. "There is some angle here and you don't see it."

"Claire, everyone else has done the manipulating in my view. I have been lied to, used, and controlled, mostly by your family. And, now I am trying to do something-" he stopped himself mid-sentence realizing he was now yelling. "I just want to change Claire, and I will leave you alone. But, Peter is helping me."

"Let's just get back to my apartment and we can work it out from there," Peter said mediating between Claire and Sylar.

"Just take me back to my dad's place," Claire pleaded.

"No, I think it's not a good idea for you to be alone, with media still buzzing around New York looking for the indestructible girl," Peter joked looking back at her in the rearview mirror hoping to lighten the mode.

"No, I am not going anywhere with him," she scoffed nodding towards Sylar.

"You know what? Fine. Peter pull over. I will come by your apartment once everything has clamed down," Sylar demanded.

"Do you really think you should be alone… again?" Peter questioned softly.

"I'll be okay. This obviously can't work. Just pull over here," Sylar reasoned,

Peter grudgingly complied, finding an acceptable place to pull over. It had started raining outside. Sylar flicked the collar of his peacoat up, before exiting into the dark street.

"Emma, it was very nice to meet you," he said after tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. Emma exited the car, as he opened his door. He was surprised when she met him outside of the car and pulled him into an embrace. His arms stayed out to his sides awkwardly for a moment before finding an acceptable spot on her back.

"Thank you for saving me," she signed and spoke as they broke the hug.

"It was no problem, good-bye Emma," he said smiling sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good-bye."

Emma re-entered the car as Sylar's shape disappeared into the darkness of New York's streets.

The drive continued relatively quietly. After about a half a mile the car began to shake violently.

"Peter!" Claire screamed from the backseat.

"I'm not doing it!" he yelled back.

Peter could feel the tire's grip on the road waning. The car rocked from side to side. Peter swerved trying to keep the tall car balanced. Over-correcting, he pulled the steering wheel to his right. The car slid perpendicular to the street for a second before it tilted too far. The driver's side hit the pavement first. Momentum pulled the car onto its roof and over again until it rested on the passenger's side.

Slowly a dark figure stalked out of the shadowed alley towards the wreckage in the middle of the street. His prey only feet away, he could feel the infinite power so close.


	2. Recovery

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

Here's chapter 2.

* * *

Claire lay crumpled on the ground outside of the wreckage, broken glass all around her. She tended to herself. Dislocated shoulder. Broken leg. Shattered collarbone. All her injuries quickly healed as she realigned her bones. No one would have been able to tell she was in a car accident except for the fact she was covered in blood. She turned towards the debris, looking for Emma and Peter.

Strong fingers slid into her hair and grabbed a handful of her golden tresses pulling her back down to the ground. She flailed as her captor pulled her along the pavement and into the closest alley. Her screams reverberated off of the dark brick walls towering over her.

He pulled her to her feet and pushed her against the wall. With her eyes closed she felt a hand slide around her neck and slam her head against the brick. It was easy for her to identify the wet crunching sound as the back of her skull shattering. Her stomach turned as she felt a familiar sensation across her forehead. The blood ran in streams down her face as she felt the gap in the front her skull widen.

"Sylar," the name sputtered through breathlessly, her eyes still locked shut.

It was more invasive than she remembered, much less precise. There was more prying, more sawing. The hand left her throat and started working with other to force open the top of her head. She got the courage to open her eyes for a fleeting second. The little light in the alley only lit her stalker's eyes. The light grey orbs were fixed on the small gap he had opened on her forehead.

The dark alley flashed blue for a millisecond. A loud crack rang through the streets. Her tormentor lay smoldering in front of her. Claire could feel her head began to heal.

Sylar flew in from the roof were he sent the electricity careening at Claire's stalker. Instead of tending to her, he landed on top of the other man in the alley. With his knees pinning his opponent's arms to the cement, his fist swung wildly into the darkness below him. The sound of bones crushing and heavy breathing reverberated of the alley walls.

The shock on Claire's face turned to concern when she saw the trail of blood leading from the overturned car to the heap of mangled human that lay on it's back in the middle of the empty road.

"Peter!" she screamed.

Rushing to his side, Claire surveyed the damage to her uncle. Blood was leaking out of the sides of his mouth, his left arm lay limp at his side with a few too many joints, lacerations enveloped his entire body, and his breathing was becoming shallower and shallower.

"Hey Pete," she said calmly, taking his hand in hers, "why don't you just borrow my ability so we can get you cleaned up?"

Glassy eyes looked up at her and an incoherent mumble bubbled threw the blood filling his mouth. Her heart sank. She had already lost so much of her family. Tears built up in her eyes, and they rolled over her cheeks when she heard gargled and muffled words coming from Peter's mouth.

"I miss him so much, Claire. I just want to see him again," Peter stuttered through the sentences as best he could.

"I know Peter, I miss him too, but you can't leave me here. Not yet," she whispered. "Now, you have to take my power."

"I can't, it's… it's… too hard to concen…"

"Peter, come back," she commanded as he drifted into unconsciousness. Panic hit her as soon as his eyes closed. Her scream echoed through the empty street. "Sylar, help!"

His head lifted, finally taking his eyes off of the human punching bag he had been pummeling. His brows raised and his eyes went wide, emotions she thought she'd never see on his face appeared: fear, concern, panic, horror.

"Give him your ability, Claire," he franticly demanded running towards her, his hands stain crimson with the blood of his enemy.

"I- I- I tried but, he couldn't-" she sobbed.

"Okay, it's going to be alright," Sylar said more to himself than Claire.

Crouching next to his only friend's nearly lifeless body, Sylar tried not to panic.

"Peter, can you hear me?" he questioned. A deep sharp breath was the only response that met his inquiry. "Okay, Claire, I need you to do some thing for me. I need you to tell Peter about when you met. When he saved you from… me. So, hold his hand," he said putting her hand back on top of Peter's, "and tell him how you felt that night."

"Okay, I'll try," she tried to say calmly after clearing her throat. "It was Homecoming, and I was supposed to be the queen. I snuck out of the house, I was so excited once I got into the school that I didn't even see you standing in front of the trophy case and I ran into you. You handed me my duffle bag and asked about Jackie. I hated that you asked about Jackie." A wry giggle escaped her mouth as another tear streaked down her cheek. "You looked into my eyes and told me how special she was for saving that man in the train wreck. You didn't know you were talking about me," her voice cracked as even more tears flooded from her eyes. "The rest happened so fast, the lights went out, and her blood was everywhere. I was so scared. I ran into you again. And somehow I knew you'd save me. You fought him, and then, on the pavement, after you fell, in front your seemingly lifeless body; I saw something that changed my life. You sat up. You healed. You were like me. And for once in my life I felt right, I felt like- like- like-" she inhaled with a gasp, as she felt the energy between her hand and Peter's exchange.

Slowly but surely the cuts closed, his arm realigned, and the bleeding stopped. And finally, his eyes opened to see the tears of joy running down his niece's beaming face.

"Hey," she said smiling from ear to ear.

"You're totally my hero," he said as a smile slowly crept over his face.

Sylar sat on the curb a few feet away, his hands in his hair, all the color of his face lost. He was taking deep breaths trying to calm himself. He hadn't felt sick since taking Claire's ability, until now.

"Yo! You gonna be alright over there?" Peter yelled with a smile, disregarding the fact that he had been inches from death mere seconds ago.

"Peter. Why don't you hang on to that ability for a while," Sylar said almost annoyed.

"He sounds a little like you after our hostage negotiation," Peter leaned in and whispered to Claire.

"Well, I think this is a good ability to settle on for a while. At least until things slow down," she turned serious too after the immediate joy wore off. "You have too much left to do to leave me now."

"Okay," Peter said sitting up, already not listening to what Claire was saying, "Where's Emma?"

He ran to the toppled car in search of the woman they had just saved.

"Emma?" he question looking down through the driver side window.

"Damn it," he muttered as he saw her unconscious body still strapped to her seat. "Sylar! Come over here!"

"What do you need Pete?" Sylar questioned rushing to his side.

"Can you get the car right side up carefully?"

"Sure."

Using his left hand he reached out towards the SUV. The automobile elevated in place. Once it had raised enough to rotate, Sylar telekinetically spun what remained of the SUV right side up. Slowly it lowered onto its wheels. Claire stood behind them watching in awe as the car settled. Peter ran around the car to the passenger's door and jarred it open.

"Peter, let me do it! I can keep her steady," Sylar called out from the other side of the SUV. Peter backed off as the seatbelt unbuckled itself and slithered off of Emma's body. Then her limp body slowly levitated out of the seat and down to the pavement.

"Claire, call 9-1-1," he commanded, kneeling over Emma's body.

Peter instantly turned from patient to doctor, paramedic to be more exact. He checked her vital signs, assessed her injuries, and tried to get her to respond. Finally, determining her stable but unconscious, he took her hand and waited.

Claire pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1, digits more foreign to her than anyone else. As she walked around to find a suitable landmark or street sign to reference to the operator, Sylar turned back to the area were the man he had been beating was. To his surprise, he only found a pool of blood. Sylar inspected every little piece of the alley, all the time keeping one eye on Claire to make sure her assailant didn't sneak up again.

Claire and Sylar reconvened with Peter when the ambulance pulled up next to the overturned SUV. The two paramedics jumped out of the back of the ambulance.

"Peter?" one of the paramedics questioned.

"Hesam. Hey, she is breathing and blood pressure seems fine but she's unresponsive," Peter didn't have time for pleasantries.

"Shit. Emma. All right, let me check her out before we get her in the ambulance," Hesam said carefully fitting her with a neck brace. As they moved her on the stretcher, he pulled out a small flashlight from his pocket, lifted Emma's eyelids, and inspected her pupils one by one. They slid the stretcher into the ambulance and Hesam jumped in after her. "Listen, Pete, I only go room for one in here. So-"

"Yea, I am coming," Peter said as he hoped in to the ambulance. "Mercy Heights Hospital, see you there," he said turning back to Sylar and Claire as he closed the ambulance door. The ambulance speed off into the night, its red lights splitting the darkness of the empty streets as two polar opposite figures watched it disappear around a corner.

"Seriously?" Claire griped, abandoned with the whole world searching for her and a serial killer at her side. She felt hopelessly alone.

* * *

**Thanks for all the reviews!**


	3. The Plan

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

Thanks for the reviews. Having a lot of fun writing this. Things might slow down a little for a few chapters but, I will try to keep it interesting until action picks back up.**  
**

* * *

Claire's hand went directly into her pocket. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number quickly from memory. Walking away from Sylar, she pressed the phone up to her ear.

She felt the phone pull out of her hand and fly back behind her. Whipping around, she saw Sylar catch it and check the outgoing call. The contact name read "Dad."

"Claire, this is a bad idea," he said hanging up the phone. "He probably still has reporters buzzing around him. Not to mention he has Sullivan to deal with."

"Give me back my phone," she demanded anger cracking through a monotone voice.

"Why do you still believe in him?"

"Because, he's my dad. Now, give me back my phone!"

"Claire! He can't protect you!" Sylar shouted.

"He's done a fine job so far!" she screamed back.

Sylar turned to a nearby dumpster, reached in, and pulled out the top of a tin can. After rolling up his coat sleeve, he ran the rusty jagged edge across his forearm.

"Has he?" he said, as the gash on his arm healed, leaving only a trail of blood.

She stared at his arm unimpressed. Finally she sighed, and gave in. She was too tired to put up anymore of a fight.

"Well, then I guess we better get a cab. Actually, why don't you just fly yourself over there and I will catch a cab and meet you at the hospital."

Sue Lander's ability buzzed inside his head. He had forgotten what it felt like when someone lied.

"You don't expect me to believe that do you? Let me give you a bit of information Claire," he leaned closer to her like he was about divulge a deep secret no one had ever heard, "lying to me, it doesn't work."

Claire rolled her eyes, taking two steps back to create distance between them.

"Another ability you pried out of the head of a helpless victim?" she interrogated, turning and walking down the street. Sylar followed.

"Yes. Yes it is. But, I wouldn't have had any use for it if it weren't for grandparents. I mean, they told me-" he stopped mid-sentence realizing he was trying to justify the killing of an innocent woman. "Yes. I killed her. And I wish I could take it back."

"Sure, you do," she responded sarcastically, "We'll see how remorseful you are when another appetizing ability shows up on your radar. My bet is the top of their head is off like that."

He shuddered slightly as she snapped her fingers at the end of her last sentence. She couldn't help but smile a little. She liked the new Sylar a lot more than the old one. She could shake him a little. She could get him to argue with her. She could get under his skin.

"Alright, Claire. The sooner we get to the hospital, the sooner you can get rid of me."

"Thank God. Why don't you get us a cab then?"

"No. I think we'll raise too many questions with you walking around looking like you just stepped out of a horror movie."

She stopped and looked down at herself. He made a valid point: her upper body was mostly covered in blood.

"So, what's your plan?"

"Put this on and come with me." He handed her his coat and motioned for her to walk with him.

She took off her jacket, threw it into a nearby trashcan, and put on his.

"So, that guy, he tried to steal my ability, right. He's like you?" Claire curiosity beat out her frustration.

"Like I used to be? I guess. He must have seen the your jump on TV and tracked us down."

"You think he'll come back."

"I did."

"What?"

"Think of the times I got stopped from taking your ability. It didn't deter me. I had to have your ability," he was staring straight ahead, recalling the former Sylar with ease, and possibly some nostalgia, "Every time I was stopped, it made me want it even more. It's power over any other ability, Claire. Anything that can be done to you, it doesn't matter because you're immortal… you're invincible."

"So, you're telling me I pretty much have every psycho with a TV trying to hunt me down and cut open my head."

"Well, luckily there can't be too many people with my ability, one or two probably. Hell, Bennet might even have a file on a few of them."

"Yeah, I don't know how happy he is with me right now."

"I wish I had seen his face."

"You could have, he was only a few feet away from you."

"No. I couldn't have. When you have the chance to witness one of the defining moments in human history, you don't look away," Sylar was obviously still marveling about the jump.

"Defining moment? I don't think so."

"We'll see, Claire. Somehow I don't think the world will overlook tonight easily."

The walk turned silent for a minute or two, until Sylar looked over at his companion's attire and began to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she questioned sounding as annoyed as possible.

"Nothing. You look like a little kid with my jacket on."

He made another valid point. The coat was enormous compared to her.

"You would look like one too if you were wearing a coat ten sizes to big," she responded still annoyed but in a little lighter tone.

"I guess you're right," he said still laughing. "Here's a good spot."

He pointed to a small convenience store. The store was well lit and had one clerk running the empty store.

"Okay, Claire, I am going to go get some stuff in there. If anything happens, scream as loud as you possibly can. Now, do you need anything?"

"I need you to leave me the hell alone," she mumble loud enough for him to hear.

"Soon enough, Claire. But, I was thinking like something to eat or drink?"

Claire found herself wishing he was less polite. Not, that she cared about hurting his feelings, but to anyone overhearing their conversation she sounded like an insufferable bitch.

"I am little thirsty. But, I'll survive."

He smiled at the unintentional pun and walked into the store. It was a very eventful few minutes while he was in the store: An old man walking his dog in the middle of the night, two young men walking on the other side of the street arguing about the Yankees, but the most interesting was the young man getting kicked out of the house by his apparent fiancée. Claire got so enthralled with their yelling that she jumped a little when Sylar approached her.

"Here," he said handing her a white 'I heart NY' sweatshirt out of a plastic bag, "this will probably fit better than my jacket. And, you can clean up a little with this." He handed her a jug of water and a towel brandishing the same logo as her sweatshirt. She took off his jacket and tossed it at his feet. She poured some of the water into the towel and started cleaning herself as best she could.

After removing as much visible blood as possible, she dumped the towel, which was now stained pink, in a trashcan and threw on the sweatshirt. Sylar pulled something out of the plastic shopping bag and threw the bag away, then bent down, picked up his coat, and put it on.

"I almost forgot," he said handing her a small carton of chocolate milk, "you said you were thirsty."

"Nice. What am I six?" she mocked at the children's size and style of drink.

"Never mind," he said subjugated. He opened the flaps and lifted the carton to towards his lips.

"Wait! That doesn't mean I am not going to drink it, freak."

He sighed cynically and handed her the carton. Sylar watched her slowly bring the carton to her lips. He smiled slightly, as she slowly inhaled through her nose and closed her eyes as she drank leisurely. It looked like a religious experience.

"What are you smiling about?" she questioned, taking a break from the drink.

"You obviously really like chocolate milk."

"Yeah. I guess so," she responded aggravated.

"What are you six?" he said through a grin, while raising his hand to hail a nearby cab. Claire didn't think it was as funny as he did. Apparently, the "reformed" Sylar's favorite hobby was the same as the old Sylar's. And, that hobby was pissing off Claire Bennet. The cab screeched to a stop in front of them. Ever the gentlemen, Sylar opened the door for Claire before walking to the other side of the cab and entering himself.

"Where are we going my friends?" the driver questioned.

"Mercy Heights Hospital," Sylar answered.

"Ah, everything okay?" he asked pulling off the curb with a lurch.

"Yes. We are fine. Just visiting a friend."

"Ah, very good," the driver said looking through the rearview mirror at Claire still drinking her beverage. "No food or drink in the cab. But, for a pretty girl, I will make one exception. Just no spilling."

"Thank you," she said turning to look out the window obviously not impressed by the driver's compliment.

"Very, very pretty. You too," he said looking back at Sylar. "Very handsome. Pretty couple. Beautiful children someday."

"Oh no. Were just friends. Not a couple," Sylar corrected. Claire snorted an irritated laugh at the "just friends" comment. 'Friends don't cut each other's heads open,' she thought to herself.

"Ah, well, you're not going to date her. Maybe she'll date me," the driver said belting out an overly ferocious laugh. The comment ended the awkward conversation and started an even more awkward silent cab ride. After a ten minute ride the driver broke the silence.

"All right my friends, we are here."

"Thank you," Sylar said leaning forward and handing their driver his payment.

They walked into the lobby to find Peter sitting in the reception area waiting for them. He stood as they approached him.

"You made it," he greeted with a sad smile.

"How is she?" Sylar questioned.

"She's in surgery now. They won't know how bad it is until afterwards, it should be a few hours." Peter's face bore the tiredness and grief of a man twice his age. He looked awful.

"I am so sorry, Pete," Claire said giving her uncle a hug. "We'll wait with you."

"Thanks… Hey, I have got an idea," Peter said looking past Claire and running a few yards down the main hallway of the entrance. He grabbed the shoulder of an obviously familiar nurse in pink scrubs. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck as he talked to her. After an exchange of words Peter finally motioned for Claire and Sylar to walk over to him.

"Claire, this is Shannon, she is going to take you to the nurse's locker room so you can shower," Peter said.

"You sure you don't want me to stay with you," Claire said, not ready to leave her uncle's side again.

"I'll be okay just don't take forever," Peter said somehow summoning what resembled a smile.

"I won't," she said. Turning, she followed the nurse down the hallway and disappeared around a corner.

"Some night," Peter said exhausted.

"Some night," Sylar agreed.

"You wanna go for a walk?" Peter inquired.

"I think you should try and get some rest," Sylar recommended.

"Naw, I am not tired," Peter lied.

"Yes, you are," Sylar corrected.

"I need to talk to you and I couldn't sleep if I tried."

"Okay, Pete, you win. Let's walk."

Peter led Sylar through the commotion of the remarkably busy hospital. Through the hallways and up a couple flights of stairs, they both remained silent. Until, they stood in an empty room filled to the brim with memories.

In reality, it had only been a few short weeks since they had stood toe to toe against each other in the unfinished wing of the hospital.

"It doesn't look like they've done much work since we were here," Sylar observed nodding at the pile of untouched wood still stained with Sylar's blood.

"Yea from what I understand, they don't have the money to finish. It's supposed to be a new children's wing," Peter explained.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" Sylar questioned, cutting out the small talk.

"I need to know what happened after the car accident. Why were you there?"

"I followed you guys, just to make sure you made it home safe. I watched you crash. Then, he grabbed Claire."

"Who?"

"I don't know, Pete. But, he was like me."

"Like you, how?"

"He wanted her ability. He almost had her head open when I stopped him. And he's still out there. If I had to bet, I would say he'll be back… sooner rather than later."

Panic came over Peter's face.

"We have to go get her. We just left her alone down there."

"Peter, she's fine. He's not coming after her in a crowded hospital," Sylar calmed Peter. He knew the M.O., he stays in the dark, uses the shadows, avoids crowds, tries to never interact with people, and he's always someone else.

"Your sure?"

"I have a lot of experience. He's not dumb enough to come after her now."

"When will he come after her?"

"When she's alone. When she's defenseless. When she's an easy target. When there's no one to protect her," Sylar's words were miserably reminiscent.

"Then I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure, Pete. Anything."

"Protect her."

"No way. Peter, she hates me, unconditionally, categorically, unreservedly, and absolutely. You saw what she did in the parking lot," Sylar pleaded.

"This is how you start to make up for what you did to her. If you're truly going to be a hero, you don't turn down this kind of offer, as unpleasant as it might seem," Peter reasoned.

"Peter it won't ever work."

Peter stared into Sylar's eyes for a long awkward pause. Then, slowly, a grin crept over his tired face.

"You're scared of her, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

Peter belted out a much-needed laugh that echoed through the empty room.

"Oh my God, you are scared of a teenage girl."

"Of course I am," Sylar yelled, "The one person that I need forgiveness from to move on with my life is downstairs, my one victim that's still alive. And, she wants to kill me. And, to tell you the truth, I am inclined to let her. She deserves it... I deserve it!"

"Easy, buddy," Peter said calmly, trying to defuse the situation, "Clam down. No one is killing anyone. If you die now, all those people, every victim, was lost for nothing."

"Don't you dare tell her."

"Tell her you're terrified of her? Of course not. But, listen, we need to protect her from this guy. It changed her so much last time. I don't want to think what it would do to her, if this guy got a hold of her. So, what we ne-"

Peter's cell phone ringtone interrupted their conversation. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

"It's Bennet."

He flipped open the phone and began to talk to Noah.

"Hello... Yea, she's fine… More or less… You lost them?… I hope to hell you find them… Well it was your job for decades, Noah. So get it done," Peter was yelling by the end of the conversation. He slammed his phone shut after the last sentence.

"What's wrong?" Sylar questioned sensing Peter's frustration.

"Noah and his girlfriend lost Samuel Sullivan and Eric Doyle. It wouldn't be a big deal, but Noah thinks they'll come for Emma. To use her ability to rebuild their 'family'," Peter sounded even more exhausted.

"It's going to be okay, Peter. Let's go through this one thing at a time and make a plan."

So, they sat on a pile of lumber in the middle of an empty room and formulated a strategy, a plan of attack. And, Claire was going to hate it.


	4. Step One

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

**A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. I have been busy and I had to rewrite this section a few times.  
**

* * *

Claire sat irritated in the reception area. She was wearing the same sweatshirt that Sylar had bought her and a pair of scrub pants, that Peter's friend, the nurse, had found for her. Her hair still wet was pulled over her left shoulder. Her eyelids felt heavy and mentally she was exhausted. She was sure she would have a pounding migraine if she could feel pain. Worst of all, Peter and his lapdog, were nowhere to be found.

She watched as the man on the couch across from her stood up and walked out of the hospital. She pounced, nearly sprinting across the waiting room. Claire collapsed into the noticeably uncomfortable couch. She sighed, letting her legs extend the full length of the couch. With her eyes closed, sleep was only seconds away as tired as she was.

"Claire, we need to talk," Peter said as he stood next to the couch.

She half opened her left eye looking up at her uncle.

"Talk? Peter, we need to sleep," Claire mumbled closing her eye and flipping the hood of her sweatshirt, trying to force herself to sleep.

"Claire, I am serious, just give me a few minutes, then, you can sleep as long as you want."

"Alright," she said, sitting up, "Shoot."

"First of all, Emma is out of surgery, and she'll probably be fine but they're keeping her here for a few days. More importantly, I heard what happened after the car wreck and it really worries me. This guys coming back and he'll keep coming back unless we stop him," Peter whispered. He had sat on the couch next to her. Sylar had found a seat on the other side of the room.

Claire's eyes went wide with excitement.

"So we're going after him?" the giddiness in her voice was apparent. She had always wanted to go fight the bad guys. Keep others from becoming victims like her.

"Not exactly. We're going to get you out of New York," he said calmly. "We don't want to risk anyone else we know with abilities."

"I am not running. I am not hiding. I have done that all of my life. I didn't jump off of a ferris-wheel in front of the world to go with you and Sylar on some excursion to run away from this psycho."

"Don't think of it as running. It's more like leading him away from other people with abilities. But," Peter cringed, "I can't go."

"What?" she virtually yelled.

"Listen, Sullivan and Doyle got away. Odds are they are coming for Emma. I can't leave her now. I didn't come this far to save her and then desert her when she needed me even more."

"Let me get this straight, you want me to evade a psychopath by enlisting the help of another, probably more dangerous, psychopath. And, you expect me to play along like he didn't kill my biological father and mother. What the hell makes you trust him this much?"

"He's going to explain that to you while you're driving. It's going to take a long time to explain. And, you guys will have a long time," Peter smiled trying to get Claire to play along.

"No. I can't."

"Claire, I love you. Do you love me?"

"Don't play this game. This is even below Lyle standards," Claire said straight faced.

"Do you?"

"Of course I love you, Pete, but-"

"But, sometimes you have to make a sacrifice for the people you love," Peter interrupted, "And, I will only feel like you're safe if you're with Gabriel. This guy can't get your ability. Plus, it will only be for a little while."

"What will you tell my dad?" Claire conceded.

"I will deal with Noah. But, you guys need to get going now," Peter said with some urgency.

"What about a car, money, clothes? We're not ready."

"I made a few calls. I am having one of my mother's 'helpers' drop off a car. The rest of it Gabriel will figure out once you're out of the city."

Peter stood and nodded to Sylar to follow them to the door. The three stood at the exit, waiting for someone to say something. Each one of them felt the importance of the moment, knowing that they each had a part to play, and knowing that what they were doing was necessary but completely dangerous.

Peter turned first to his niece. He hugged her tightly, as he often did. And kissed her on the forehead.

"Take care of him, Claire. He's not as bad as you think."

Then, Peter turned to the man he had spent the most recent years of his life in solitude with. Shaking his hand Peter searched the multitude of abilities in Sylar's repertoire. Power exchanged from hand to hand as Peter found the telekinetic power he was after.

"Sorry. But, Claire's ability won't help me against Doyle and Sullivan," Peter reasoned.

"I understand, Pete. Just be safe," Sylar pleaded.

"I will." Then Peter leaned in to tell Sylar a secret he had learned about women over his few relationships. "Buy her something. It's the easiest way to get into her good graces."

Claire punched him in the arm as Peter laughed at his own wit. Peter walked them out to the black Land Rover that waited in front of the hospital. Sylar got into the drivers seat, Claire in the passengers. Peter waved as the car disappeared down the street heading south.

Claire looked over at Sylar. Every emotion she was feeling was conveyed through her groan: exhaustion, annoyance, frustration, and irritation. Reclining the seat and turning on her side to face away from him, she quickly fell asleep.

* * *

Sylar stared at her as she slept. "I should be paying more attention to the road," he thought to himself. He looked back at the road for only a second. The pair of tiny red taillights miles in front of him confirmed his sense of isolation. His piercing eyes trailed back to her. Every passing car or streetlight illuminated her sleeping body for only a second, and then she drifted back into the darkness of the passenger seat. Even with her masked in the dark, he felt her. Her scent filled the car, dancing into his nostrils every time his mind drifted off of her. He hated it. He hated himself. He had always convinced himself it was her ability that led to his infatuation with her. But, it wasn't and now that he had stuck himself with her, he realized it was a lot more than that.

The rumble under the tires of the Land Rover broke his concentration. The strip of hard road outside the lane was meant to keep people from sleeping or getting distracted. It served its purpose twofold as his attention darted back to the road and she poked her head up still in between sleep and consciousness. She looked out the dark road in front of her; at this hour cars were scarce. Then, she looked back at him with half opened eyes. His were eyes fixed on the road now, avoiding her's.

Turning her back to him and pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, she mumbled annoyed, "Hey, don't get us killed."

A smiled appeared for a moment over his face, but washed off as stared back at her as she had already return to her dream. Reaching out one finger he gently moved the blanket over her bare left arm using Brian Davis's ability. He didn't dare touch her as badly as he wanted to. He feared her skin would burn on contact. Something so tarnished touching something so pure would never result well.

He focused back on the road, the smell of Claire again dancing through his nose.


	5. The Calm

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

**A/N: Sorry it has been so long since an update. I have been extremely busy and I have rewritten this chapter more than a few times.**

* * *

Claire woke up slowly. She had slept deeply and felt completely refreshed. Then, she remembered the previous night and who was driving the car and felt tired all over again.

"Morning, Claire," Sylar greeted her solemnly.

She turned away acting as if she hadn't heard him.

"Where are we?" she mumbled noticing a severe change in landscape. The rolling hills and fields patched with clusters of trees were far from the bustling metropolis of New York City.

"Radford," he mumbled back.

"Okay, what state?"

"Virginia," he answered almost cracking a smile.

"So, we drove all night?"

"Yes, we did. Are you hungry?" he inquired.

"No, I don't eat right after I wake up."

"Oh, okay."

Those were the last words they said to each other for a long while. She stared out the passenger window; he focused on the road. As awkward as it was for her to try to talk to him, the silence was ten times more awkward, so she thought of the only question she could ask him, the one Peter had to told her to ask.

"So," she started trying do sound as disinterested as possible, "how did you and Peter get to be friends so fast?" She want to add in a comment like 'I mean you killed his brother' or 'after you've tried to ruin his life for the past four years' but she was interested in hearing the story. She figured she'd get a straighter answer if she didn't antagonize him before he had even started.

"You sure? It's a long story," he explained, trying to talk his way out of sharing his nightmare with Claire. Fearless Claire, who will probably laugh at my innumerable years in hell, he thought.

"You're right, there's so much else to do right now," she said looking over the surroundings making sure he sensed her sarcasm. She couldn't help herself, she was trying to do him a favor by acknowledging his presence and talking with him, but he seemed like he would rather sit in silence pretending to be alone.

"Fine. I guess it starts with this," he said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to expose the tattoo of her that still remained imprinted on his skin.

"Oh God, I hoped that was gone by now," she remarked, looking down at his forearm.

"Me too," he agreed. As much as he wanted Claire's forgiveness, he figured a tattoo of her on his arm was a little over the top. "Anyway, you remember our conversation in the closet?"

"Yea, how could I forget? Making 't-charts,' and my best friend's life being endangered. It's one of those days that sticks with you. Plus, it was just few days ago."

"Yeah, I guess it was. But, to be fair, her life wasn't in danger."

"Whatever, details, get to the story," Claire urged with an annoyed impatience.

"Okay, so we figured out that I needed to get rid of my powers to become more human. Right?"

She hated how he said 'we' like they had voluntarily worked together on solving his psychopathic problems; as if they had labored through all of issues one by one and drawn up a conclusion. No, in reality, he had tricked her into helping him unwillingly.

"Obviously that didn't work, because here you are unholy powers and all," she assessed continuing to get impatient.

"You're right. The only person I could think of powerful enough to suppress my abilities was Parkman. So, I went to California. I threatened Matt's family to try to get him to suppress my abilities. Instead, he trapped my inside my own mind."

"What do mean _inside your own mind_?" she questioned finding herself skeptical yet somewhat interested in his story now.

"I was alone in a city I could never leave. Seconds were days; hours were years. I had no idea how I had got there or why there was no one left, but in reality I was just sitting in his basement comatose," his sad words tried to explain the inexplicable.

"So, it was a dream?" she attempted to understand.

"No. It was real. I could feel, I could taste, I could hear. Every millisecond was real to me. The emptiness was real. I knew it was what I deserved, what I had earned for myself." His words were sharp. He knew she would never fully understand what he had gone through, but he tried to express how real it was.

"That sounds terrible," she couldn't believe she was empathizing with a serial killer but the miserable way he told the story actually, for a second, made her believe it had changed him. "But, it still doesn't explain you and Peter."

"Of course, Peter. He showed up one thousand, one hundred and thirty-nine days later. He was banging a pipe on the pavement of Whitley Avenue. After over three years of solitude, I couldn't believe he was real. He had to be my mind tricking me. So, I ran away from him, tried to hide. He found me and asked for my help. Could you imagine? I had killed his brother, tried to ruin his life for years, and hurt virtually every person he loved and yet he wanted to save Emma so bad he would rescue me from this nightmare to help her. But, it wasn't so easy. We spent years trying to get out."

"How'd you guys get out?"

"At first, I didn't want out. I had earned my prison cell, and I would rot there for eternity. But, Peter, he was so desperate to get out, to save Emma. I decided I wanted to help him escape. And then out of nowhere a wall, a brick wall, appeared. For some reason, we knew it had to be the way out. First, Pete hit it with a sledgehammer everyday. Then, we both hit it everyday. He is so stubborn, must run in the family," he jabbed as a grin crept over his face. "For years not a pebble moved, but he hit it every second he could. Finally, one night at the wall he admitted I had changed. He admitted he was ready for me to leave my prison. The wall finally crumbled. So, we both hit it. And then, we were back in Parkman's basement, and it had only been half a day."

Claire was silent. She hadn't expected that. For some reason, she believed him. Still, Peter may have forgiven him, but she still wasn't going to. Peter had years to grieve and forgive Sylar. The wounds of Nathan's death were still open and bleeding for her. And, she didn't see them healing anytime soon. But, understanding that Peter believed in him almost made it tolerable to ride in a car with him.

"So, are you hungry yet?" Sylar finally said timidly. "Because, I am starving."

"I guess I could eat," she conceded.

"It's noon, you want breakfast or lunch?" he said through a sneer, mocking how late she had slept.

Though, the question was asked sarcastically, Claire surveyed her options carefully.

"Breakfast."

"Good choice," he agreed.

* * *

Peter woke sore all over. He twisted his head in an attempt relieve the intense pain in the muscles in his neck. He deserved the sharp pains encompassing his body, sleeping in a chair does that to you. Streaks of sunlight broke through the gaps in the shutters and cast stripes a crossed the hospital room floor. The haze of the night before struck him like a freight train as he sat up with a jolt. Looking at the bed in front of him, he saw Emma sound asleep, bandages around her head and fingertips. Panning the rest of the room he realized he was not alone.

"Hello, Peter," Angela Petrelli greeted her son with a dignified yet sad smile.

"Mom?" Peter moaned through tired eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I am worried about you, Peter. Things are changing very quickly. I want to make sure that our family is ready."

"Mom," Peter he said still waking, "Right now, I am just worried about Emma."

"Of course you are Peter. That is who you are. You will always put others before yourself. And, that is why all I am asking of you is to stay here and keep quiet while I deal with your niece's little stunt."

"I can do that," Peter agreed walking over to Emma's bed and inspecting her chart. "Has there been any word on Doyle and Sullivan?"

"No. Unfortunately, those two seemed to have disappeared into thin air."

Peter looked at Emma worried. "You think they'll try and use her again?"

"It's hard to say. I wouldn't put it past Samuel Sullivan. That kind of crazy has no morals and follows no rules," she paused for a second seemingly cultivating a plan in her mind, "Would it help if I had René come around?"

"I guess it couldn't hurt."

Peter wanted to fight his own fight, but he didn't want to take any chances with Emma. "The Haitian" had always proved as useful as he was loyal.

"I will send him by. When he gets here I think you should go home and rest. You're spreading yourself too thin, Peter."

"I've got by so far spreading myself thin, I think I manage, mom."

There was a long silence as Peter continued to flip through the pages on the clipboard.

"I trust Gabriel and Claire are out of the city."

"Yep. They left last night."

"Good. Where were they going?"

"Not sure. I guess I should call them here soon."

"Give them some time, Peter. Isolating them from you might be the best thing, for both of them. Just give them a few days before you call."

"Maybe."

"Well, Peter. I have quite a day in front of me. I'll come back by soon."

"Bye, mom."

Peter hugged his mother and returned to his chair. Folding his arms in front of his chest he sat there in silence waiting.

* * *

Neither of them talked much during their breakfast. Food was much more important than conversation. The diner was small, dirty, and had some of the scraggliest patrons either of them had ever seen. Needless to say the food was delicious.

After eating and paying their tab, Sylar left to use the bathroom. Claire sat at the table alone for a moment. Her gaze dropped the keys he left sitting on the table. If she wanted to leave this was her chance. Before she new what she was doing, the keys were in her hand.

"Go," she told herself, her eyes still fixed on her hand clasped around the keys. She tried to force her legs to move. She had to move.

"Going somewhere, Claire?" Sylar asked with an eyebrow raised after emerging from the back of the diner.

"No, I just thought I could drive for a while," Claire lied.

He looked down at her, a disappointed look on his face.

"You know I'll always been honest with you, Claire?"

She hated the way he used her name. It felt so fake, so condescending, to have him talk to her like they were friends. And for some reason she let that hate saturate her.

"Fine, you fucking drive," she growled, shoving the keys into his chest and walking past him towards the door.

"Claire?"

She walked through the door ignoring him. He chased her out of the diner into the parking lot. Claire crossed the parking lot to where the car was parked.

"Claire!" he shouted this time grabbing her arm to spin her to face him. "What the hell is your problem?"

"You're my problem, Sylar! This whole situation is my problem," she screamed at him, "What do I do know?"

"I don't know," he broke for a second raising his voice, "Maybe you should have thought of that before you jumped off that ferris-wheel. Have you ever taken a second to consider that you might not be the only one who doesn't want to be here?"

She looked down at the gravel realizing how childish she felt right then. Sylar instantly felt bad for yelling at her.

"I am sorry, Claire," he said as softly as possible. "But, we have to make this work, because there's really no other choice. What happened happened. Now, we have to deal with that. Those are the facts. And, we can fight about it or we can keep moving forward."

She was blown away. She had seen a range of emotions she never thought possible by Sylar. He had appeared to her, if only for a second, human.

"I had my chance to leave. I could have picked up those keys and walked out here and drove off. But, I just sat there," she confessed the real reason for her frustrations.

Sylar just looked at her, silently taking in her every emotion. He knew the feeling. The hunger for abilities, the need to kill, had driven his life for years; he hadn't had control in a long time. Even before Sylar he let his mother or his profession direct his life. So, he put the keys in Claire's hand and walked around to the passenger's side. The keys represented freedom, represent choice, and he had just handed her pure independence. A smile crept over her face as they both entered the SUV.

"Where are we going?" she asked adjusting the driver's seat to match her much shorter legs.

"Where_ are _we going?" he asked her in response. She sat there perplexed. It was a loaded question. In reality, she had four options, four directions. She picked the most familiar.

"West?"

"Sounds good to me," he confirmed.

Dropping the shifter into 'D,' she floored the gas pedal. The tires spun wildly, sending gravel flying behind her.

* * *

Quietly glancing over at Sylar every few moments, she studied his appearance, as much as it made her sick to her stomache. The bags under his eyes and unkempt hair on his face revealed his fatigue. She knew he couldn't go more than a few more hours without sleep. As much as her ability helped her in tight spots when it came to injury, she still needed to eat, sleep, drink water, things that "normal" people do, to stay _functional_. She figured asphyxiation or dehydration wouldn't kill her, but could wreck havoc on her brain. She had learned the effects of sleeping deprivation in Anatomy, too. More things that wouldn't kill her or Sylar but weren't worth the risk. Not that she cared if he screwed up his already deranged mind.

"You look horrible," she pointed out.

"Thanks," he said through a yawn.

"No, I mean, you look like you should get some sleep," she corrected herself.

"I'll be fine."

"Alright, all I'm saying is if you wanted to rest for a little while, I can handle it alone for a few hours."

"I don't need sleep," he said a little more sternly.

"Glad to see most of Peter's stubbornness wore off on you. I guess after God knows how many years, you guys can probably finish each other's sentences," Claire paused, staring down the road considering what mental purgatory must have been like. "I can't imagine years and years of interactions with just one person. I mean, it had to be better than the years alone, but still I am surprised you didn't kill one another."

She took fleeting look back at Sylar. His legs were up on the dash, his seat reclined, hands folded behind his head, and, of course, he was fast asleep. Claire quelled the instant urge to violently wake him.

"You son of a bitch, I actually try to talk to you, and you're going to sleep through one of our first real conversations?" Claire whispered annoyed under her breath making sure not to awaken him.

Despite her irritation, Claire liked him a lot more like this: asleep. He wasn't the psychotic egotistical serial killer he was when he was awake. She kept glancing back at him; it was completely unreal. She had never imagined him eating, sleeping, or doing anything regular, just killing and tormenting. Witnessing him doing normal things was fascinating to her. Though, he slept less than normal. He shifted, winced, and groaned as if he didn't like where he went in his dreams.

* * *

"He's very careful," he thought out loud, "but he'll make a mistake."

He was right Sylar hadn't let Claire out of his sight for more than a minute in nearly 24 hours. He didn't let her go into the gas stations alone. He stood outside the restroom when she had to use it. He was smothering her, and at some point, probably soon, she would get tired of it and run off.

It wasn't tough following them. The lo-jack on their car made sure of that. Staying a few miles back and changing cars at every once in a while kept him hidden.

The cell phone in the passenger seat buzzed with an incoming call. It was her, it had to be her. She had giving him the phone, and he hadn't received a call from anyone else on it. He flipped it open to accept the call.

"Yea… No, not yet… Soon… I will…"

The conversation was one-sided and it ended abruptly. She had put a lot of money into attaining his services, yet she was getting impatient, but he wasn't going to get sloppy, he wasn't going to rush. Because, thanks to her he had time, time enough to wait for the right opportunity. Time enough to figure out how to get the cheerleader's ability and kill the watchmaker in one encounter.


	6. Restless

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

**A/N: Already working on the next chapter. Going to try to put out chapters a little faster as I have more time to write now. Feel free to review. Expect the action to really start to pick up next chapter, whereas this chapter is not a lot a plot and just Claire/Sylar stuff.**

**

* * *

**

_Sylar woke to a sharp stinging pain in his neck. His eyes shot open to see the syringe being pulled out of his neck and back through the open car window. Claire was already out of the car, on her knees being held under the arms by two men in ski masks. Grabbing the wrist of the man who had injected him, he put his other hand out to electrocute their captor._

_He felt tired, weak, and very normal. Not even a spark emitted from his hand. He was forced out of the car quickly and pulled to face Claire. She had received a similar injection. The man next to her pulled out a pistol and without words, sent a bullet into Claire's thigh. Her scream cut through the silence of the isolated highway. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she raised her eyes to meet Sylar's. The blood from a very real and unhealed bullet wound stained her jeans. _

"_Gabriel, please," she cried in agony. He felt so hopeless, so pathetically human. "Gabriel, help me. Plea-"_

_Her words were cut short by a second gunshot. She clutched her stomach, but the dark blood poured through the gaps in between her fingers. She didn't scream this time, her colorless lips just gasped for air._

"_Go ahead, Mr. Gray, save her," the man mocked placing the end of the barrel to Claire's temple. She looked back at him with sobbing eyes and silently mouthed the word 'please.'_

"_I am sorry," Sylar finally choked out. He closed his eyes and embraced the emptiness of the inside of his eyelids. He wished he wasn't so aware of his surroundings, he wished he could just cut himself off from reality. Claire's gasps for air interrupted the sound of the cool breeze rushing through the trees off of the road and the squawk of the birds living with in one of them. He wondered why he was overly aware of what was around him. He could smell the dust on the barren road, Claire's perfume, and the musk of the man that stood in front of him. _

_The gunshot made him flinch. He clinched his eyes shut further._

_The echo of the gunshot rang a hundred times over in the darkness of his head, getting louder each time. The noise was deafening. Drowning out every other sense he had. He wished for the aloneness of his nightmare, the quietness. Finally, he forced himself to open his eyes._

Sylar sat up and inhaled deeply, a cold sweat covering his body. The familiar sight of the interior of the car and the hum of the running engine calming him as he let his head fall limply back on the headrest of the seat.

"Jesus, you really are a psycho," Claire mumbled.

"It never used to be like this," he reflected ignoring Claire's insult while trying to catch his breath.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean: the second I try to change my life, my only friend almost dies. I start doing the 'right' thing, and I start having nightmares. Plus, no offense, but going on a road trip with someone that wants to kill me wasn't at the top of my 'to do' list, especially after five years in my personal hell." He paused and took a deep breath. "I guess it comes down to the fact that: it was a lot easier being Sylar."

"Of course it was," she assessed, "living life with no rules. Just going around doing whatever you want, killing whoever you want. It's going to take a big adjustment."

"That makes sense," he paused for a long time. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" she asked puzzled.

"You know," he said, rubbing the back his neck sheepishly, in a way that reminded Claire too much of Peter, "Be a hero?"

She laughed out-loud, "I am no hero. That's Peter's job."

"Well, counting yesterday, you've saved Peter's life at least twice. You stabbed me… what three times? Even killed me once. Oh, and you played a pretty big role in keeping New York from exploding. So, yeah, that sounds kinda like a hero to me."

"Whatever," Claire said rolling her eyes with a smile.

"So, give me some advice, you've been one of the good guys for a lot longer than me," he joked.

"I don't know what to tell you," she sat there silent for a long time. "I guess it just comes down to believing that I was given this gift, this ability, for a reason. And even if I will never fully understand this ability, it's my job to figure out what that reason is."

"I guess, that doesn't apply for someone who took all of his abilities," he added somberly, pausing as he reflected on his former self. "I am scared, Claire, that he'll comeback. He's still in here," Sylar pointed to his head. "I can feel him. Waiting."

Claire felt a cold chill run up her spine. It terrified her to no end, to think that the "real" Sylar was still lying dormant inside his head. The "real" Sylar was confident, powerful, and devious, and the man that sat in the passenger seat next to her was not. She felt in her gut, that they hadn't seen the last of that Sylar.

"You have to find a way to keep him in there. You can't ever let him out," she commanded.

"I know," he agreed. "Promise me, if he ever comes back, you'll kill him, no matter what Pete says, no matter if you think you can bring me back."

"You know, he's pretty tough to get rid of."

"I promise to keep him trapped up there as long as I possibly can, as long as you promise me you'll find a way to kill him if he ever comes back. I am not letting him control me again."

"Deal," she said understanding the gravity of her promise. He gave her sad smile in return. They sat there in silence, both analyzing their end of the bargain.

"Let's get something to eat," he said in a more upbeat voice, breaking the silence. "Then, lets find a place to sleep. I am tired of sleeping in a car."

"Whatever, that works for me," she concurred nonchalantly. Trying not to sound giddy at the idea of a bed and a shower.

* * *

They walked down the hallway of the upscale hotel they had checked into quietly. It was around midnight when they checked in and getting a noise complaint wasn't the best way to stay under the radar. They just wanted to blend in, get to their room, and go to sleep. Claire walked behind Sylar, angrily whispering at him, obviously being lest worried about blending in.

"Hey, sideshow, did over hear you saying you got a room with one queen sized bed?" she half whispered half yelled at him.

"Yep," he responded casually as he ran his finger along the wall lightly as they approached their room.

"Maybe you can't count, but there's two of us and one bed," she whispered slowly and sarcastically.

"Whoever's after you would be looking for us in a two bed room, plus only need one bed," he whispered back as counted the rooms as they passed them.

"No. No, Sylar. We actually do need two beds," she said keeping the sarcastic façade by acting like she was talking to a child.

He turned to face the door, inserted the keycard into the card reader on the door, and opened the door for his companion.

"I'd rather get stabbed in the eyeball with a pencil then share a bed with you," she remarked pushing past him into the room. He just grinned back.

Sylar closed the door behind him and locked the dead bolt and chain lock. Then, he walked over to window. He looked out the second story down to the parking lot. Claire stared at him as his eyes darted from the hotel exits, to cars, to empty parking spaces, to the street. She could see the gears turning in his head, he took everything into account: threats, escape routes, getaway vehicles, anything suspicious. She wondered what it'd be like to look at the world through his eyes. Analyzing every single thing he saw until he understood it. The more she thought about it the less and less appealing living one's life like that seemed. She knew sometimes in life not understanding was a blessing.

"What are you thinking?" she questioned from where she sat on the side of the bed. It was a rhetorical thought she had accidentally said out loud.

"Whether the versatility of a SUV outweighs the ability to blend-in of a sedan," he answered with out turning to face her or changing expression.

"Does your brain really work like that?" she questioned.

"Yes," he answered still deep in thought.

"That's weird," she responded. It came out of her mouth sounding a lot more insensitive than she meant it to. "Sorry," she quickly amended.

"No, it's fine. You should take a shower now if you are going to, we're going to leave early."

"I guess, I'll just change back into these three day old dirty clothes when I am done then," she sighed, walking over to the bathroom wishing she had a change of clothes.

"We'll can go get some clothes tomorrow after we check out, sound good?"

"Sure," she said as she closed door to the bathroom.

Claire exhaled, exhausted from the last week of her life. She could feel it coming from deep inside of her and despite how hard she tried to fight it; the tears welled up in her eyes. She felt so tired, so angry, so scared, and so isolated. Every emotion hit her at once as she tried to slow her breathing to calm herself, but she started sobbing even harder. She closed her eyes in embarrassment when she the knock on the door.

"Everything alright?" Sylar questioned from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, I am fine," she responded, cringing at the fact that she sounded overly chipper trying to conceal her bawling. Turning on the shower to drown out the noise of her crying, she pulled herself on to the counter and sat with her head in her hands, silently adding humiliation to the list of emotions she was feeling. She wished her mom was there, her dad was there, Peter was there, Gretchen was there, anyone was there. Her one pillar of guidance now was a man who was out in the other room analyzing the tactical advantages of a Toyota versus a Honda. Not to mention he had killed her biological father and mother. Though it was becoming more and more evident that this man was different from the murder he once was, not that it changed the facts.

She told herself she was strong enough to get trough this. That she had been through harder situations than this, but she was tired of being strong, of having something to get through. She just wanted to live for once.

The steam filling the room indicated the heat of the shower. After kicking off her shoes, Claire slid off of the counter and began to disrobe. Stepping into the shower, she new that the heat would have stung if she could have felt the pain. But, now the temperature just felt therapeutic. She lost track of time, letting the water cleanse her physically and emotionally. Being alone for once, simply let her unwind. She new Sylar was trying his best, but it was hard for her to communicate with him. At anytime it was either like talking to college professor or a seven-year-old.

Claire shut-off the water, feeling refreshed for the first time in days. She took her time drying herself, dreading the fact that she'd half to change back into her grimy clothes. But, even the three-day-old clothes couldn't ruin the unsullied feeling of freshness about her.

She walked out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam. She furrowed her brow, overstressing the crease in between her eyebrows, when her eyes met an empty bed missing one pillow. She was fully read to sleep on the ground or in the one lone chair at the desk by the window. A smirk crept over her face, as she noticed the tall gawky form of a reformed serial killer sleeping on the floor with his back propped against the door and a pillow behind his head. Claire shook her head, her grin growing even bigger as she walked to the bed.

Slipping under the covers of the sizeable bed, she then removed her pants and placed them on the nightstand with in reaching distance for the next morning. She couldn't keep herself from looking at him. He didn't look comfortable at all, but he looked like he was sleeping deeply.

The words crept out of her mouth inadvertently in almost a whisper.

"Thanks."


	7. The Reveal

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

**WARNING: I really messed up and meant to put this warning in a few chapters earlier, but you'll have to forgive me. This chapter will have character death in it. That being said, our main players are all okay for the time being, but I wanted to warn you before you read the chapter. I know some people like being warned about things like that, and I am truly sorry I didn't warn you earlier.**

**A/N: Please review if you have time, it always motivates me to write.**

* * *

Claire sat in the passenger's seat of the car, all the doors locked around her. She had her knees pulled up to her chest as she slowly rocked herself back and forth. In reality it had been about three minutes since she had first got into the car, but it seemed like three lifetimes. She sat there curled up in a ball worrying. Worrying about him. And, it annoyed her. She wondered how she had let it come to this, how had she let herself drop her guard, how had she let him nudge his way into her life to the point that now she worried about his wellbeing. Deep in thought, she jumped at the knock on the driver's side window.

When Claire saw Sylar's face on the other side of the glass, she scrambled over to the door and unlocked it. He slid in to his seat, looking straight out the windshield for a long moment. She stared at his profile, studying him, hoping he would say anything.

"Keys?" he requested in a low tone still avoiding eye contact.

"Huh?" she questioned unfocused and distracted.

"The keys," this time he demanded a little sterner.

"Oh, sorry," she responded quietly.

Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out the keys to the car. She slowly offered them to Sylar, extending her arm cautiously towards him. As he reached out for the keys, she noticed the crimson staining his hand. Recoiling, she asked him the one thing she had to know. It wasn't a question; it was a fragment of a question, two words. But, if he had changed, if he had left the other Sylar behind him, the question had to be asked.

"Did you-?" she stuttered eyeing his bloody hands.

He looked down at his hands, understanding exactly what she as was asking. He wished he had killed the taxidermist. He had wanted to, not just to protect Claire, not just because of the hunger, not just for murdering his real mother or for selling a confused little boy to parents that would never understand him, but mostly because Sylar didn't want to accept that Samson Gray was a tangible vision of his own future. Despite all of his powers, all of his conquests, Samson Gray was still a pathetic man that would die alone with nothing to show for his life. And, whether Sylar died tomorrow or a millennium from now, he knew he would end up the same way. He wished he could tell Claire her tormentor was dead, even if it meant she would only see him as the monster she thought he still was, because, at least then, one of them could have peace.

"No," he answered, pulling his gaze up to meet hers.

Sylar saw something in her eyes he hadn't expected. She was relieved. She didn't want him to be a murderer again. Half of an idle smile flashed across his face but quickly faded as his eyes elevated to examine the scarlet halo around her scalp.

"Claire, I am sorry-" he began.

"Don't be sorry. You saved me," she interrupted sounding embarrassed.

"Saved you? I let him get inside your head. I wasn't strong enough," he corrected.

"I've had my head cut open before," she paused realizing that wasn't the best place to start, but she continued explaining anyway, "I've jumped off buildings. I've broken bones. It's not about him being inside my head, it's about himtaking _my_ ability."

"But-" he started to counter. But, the narrow eyes that stared back at him let him know who was going to win the argument. "Okay."

"Let's just get out of here," she insisted.

Sylar obeyed, turning the keys in the ignition, and leading the car out of the parking garage.

* * *

Samson Grey sat with his back still against the concrete wall, an uneasy look on his blood soaked face. After remaining there for a long while, he stood to walk to his car. Every step down the stairs he replayed his encounter with Sylar in more detail. He was sure he had given his son something to thing about, but he wasn't sure he had distracted him enough to make a mistake. Either way he had a phone call to make, and he wasn't looking forward to making it.

Creeping into his car, he pulled out the cell phone from the glove compartment and stared at it for a long time. Finally, he dialed the only number in the contact list.

"Hello… No… I don't know if I can… No, I don't care if he's my son; it's just going to be harder than I thought… What do you mean a pick-up?... New York? No, no," he paused to cough, "I don't have time to run an errand for you in New York… Yes… I understand… Okay what's the address?"

He growled as he turned the key to start his car after throwing the phone back into the glove box. Samson didn't like the idea of letting the trail of his son and that amazing ability go cold, but she was the boss. She really likes being the boss, he thought as he headed east, back to where his deranged road trip had begun.

They cleaned up at a gas station, so they wouldn't have to explain why they both looked like they were pulled off the screen of a "slasher" movie while checking into the hotel. Claire and Sylar had driven all day since their morning encounter with Samson without stopping, apart from their brief hygienic pull-off at said gas station.

"So, you're done talking?" Claire wondered sitting on the bed of the hotel room, noting her companion's lack of communication.

"I am just thinking," he responded quietly.

"So, think _with_ me. Do you think he'll come back?" she asked about her stalker.

"Yep," he answered quickly.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he answered already starting to sound annoyed.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm the one that he's trying to get to," she half-yelled, getting equally annoyed.

"It's not just you!" he yelled erupting violently. He, then, walked to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Claire sat on the bed in shock. She wondered what had happened to transform him so much so fast. Her thoughts were interrupted by the crash that came from the bathroom. Rushing over to the door, she gently knocked on the door.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

There was no response.

"I am coming in," she warned before turning the knob and sliding into the restroom.

Upon entering the bathroom it wasn't hard to tell what had happened. The shattered mirror, the trail of drops of blood dotting the floor, and Sylar sitting against the far wall on the floor all told a story. He sat there breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied from battering his own reflection in the mirror, his glassy eyes staring straight ahead.

Claire looked down at him and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her heart ached for him. There was something wrong; something in that stairwell had changed in him.

"Okay," she said soothingly, "That's alright."

Retrieving a washcloth from the towel rack, she turned on the sink and dampened the piece of material. She weaved her way next to Sylar, avoiding the broken fragments of mirror as she glided across the room. She thought she would always be terrified of him, especially when he had blood covered his hands, but there on the bathroom floor, he looked like an exhausted and defeated man, not an egotistical serial killer.

"Let me see your hand," she commanded softly, as she knelt at his side.

Sylar complied, still avoiding eye contact. He flinched to her touch as she put one hand under his bloody left hand, and used the other to start cleaning his knuckles. The cheerleader's ability pushed most of the small shards out of his hand, but Claire had to pull out the larger ones lodged deeper inside him.

"And the other one," she insisted after cleaning his left hand.

He complied again, turning slightly to face her to give better access to his right hand. Claire continued to tend to him in silence, until she had removed all the offending glass and cleaned away the blood. She dropped the now pink washcloth in front of her, and sat back against the wall, mimicking his position.

They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, for a long time until Sylar finally broke the silence.

"It's my father," his choked out, still not turning to face her.

"What?" she questioned keeping her tone gentle.

"It's my dad. The man that attacked you," he explained simply.

"Oh," she said stunned.

"Claire, I am sorry," he said not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

"It's not your fault," she whispered.

Claire brought her hand to his cheek, forcing him to face her. He raised his gaze to meet hers, piercing her with his dark hooded eyes.

"It's not your fault," she reiterated softer and quieter.

Slowly, he brought his hand up to hers, capturing it slowly. He held it for only a second before pulling it off of his face and, even though his heart was pounding in his chest, he placed it back down at her side where it belonged. Again, they sat next to each other in silence, and again, after a long wait, Sylar broke the silence.

"Are you hungry?" he asked in a hushed insignificant voice.

"Always," she sighed, trying to lighten the mood on the bathroom floor.

Sylar let his head lightly fall back to the wall behind him, as small smile spread across his face.

"Then, let's go get food."

"Alright, then get out of here," she commanded playfully pushing his shoulder, "I am going to take a shower."

"Okay," he chuckled standing up and leaving the bathroom.

He walked over to the bed and collapsed onto the comforter as he heard the shower start. Slowly, he fell asleep wondering what had just happened in the bathroom.

About forty-five minutes later he woke up to the sound of the bathroom door closing. He poked his head up to see her leaving the bathroom.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, poking fun at the length of her preparations.

"Are you?" she asked, noting that he was still half asleep.

"Yeah," he answered through a yawn, standing and walking to the door.

Sylar opened the door for her, and followed into the hallway. It was only until they got into that hallway that he noticed her. Maybe it was the lighting; maybe he finally shook off the haze from the short nap, but the man that was always so focused on details, finally became aware of the blonde that walked next to him. He couldn't help but stare. He was amazed: how can someone make a plain black hoodie, a gray tank top, and jeans look so… perfect.

"What?" Claire asked half-annoyed, noticing him staring at her.

"Huh?" he said, breaking out of the spell she had him under.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh, uh, nothing," said nervously, diverting his eyes.

* * *

"You had to pick this pizza parlor," he prodded.

They looked very out of place in the family pizza parlor, especially, with a seven-year-old's birthday party having completely taken over the restaurant.

"What?" she wondered, smiling as a gang of kids ran by their booth.

"It's chaos."

"They're kids."

"They're monsters," Sylar joked taking a bite of pizza, obviously trying to get on Claire's nerves.

"No, they are not. How is he a monster?" she nodded behind him, at little boy playing a vintage crane game, with little success. The boy, now on his toes, pressed his face against the casement, eyeing a specific stuffed animal, a duck. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose, brushed his straight blond hair out of his eyes, and put another quarter into the machine. The three-hooked crane lowered, and grasped nothing but air.

"You're right, he's not monster; he's just not very bright."

"Shut up," she faked anger, her heartbreaking for the little boy.

"He's never getting that duck, the crane isn't going hold anything that heavy. That's how they make their money."

"Whatever. He's going to get it this time," Claire wished, leaning in watching more intently as the boy put another quarter into the machine.

The crane hovered over the ultimate prize. It lowered and grasped around the head of the duck. Pulling the stuffed animal out of the sea of cheap plush toys, the hook seemed hold on to the duck by and invisible string, impossibly grasping the toy. Before the toy dropped into to where the boy could receive his prize, Claire noticed Sylar looking on, his right index finger barely extended holding the duck up telekinetically. After raising both arms in triumph, the boy grabbed the duck and ran off still celebrating. She looked over at Sylar, who was smirking in that familiar narcissistic way.

"Don't be so proud of yourself," she chastised playfully.

"You're welcome," he told her through a smirk, understanding how badly she wanted the boy to win.

His sarcastic pleasantry was met with an over-the-top eye roll.

"What else can you do?" she questioned, changing the subject.

"What?"

"Moving stuff with your mind, seen that one; electricity, seen it. You got to have some other useful tricks."

He looked at her hand, nodding to a piece of jewelry on right ring finger.

"Let me see your ring," he requested.

She removed it and dropped it into Sylar's out stretched hand. He closed his eyes as he held in between his thumb and forefinger. Deep in concentration he spoke with his eyes closed, even though Claire could see his pupils darting around behind his eyelids.

"The emerald was mined in Khewra, Pakistan and shipped to China, where it was cut and set in stainless steel. Then, after a stop in customs in California, it was shipped to a small jewelry shop in the Music City Mall in Odessa, Texas. Three people tried it on before a cheerleader and her mom walk in to the store. She tries it on," he explained, changing tenses as if he was actually watching the events happen right in front of him. "It's too expensive. She bargains with her mom, who finally budges, giving into the persistency. It doesn't leave her finger very often anymore."

Claire smiled at the, now, shared memory. Her eyes widen as the vivid gold color originated at where his fingertips held the ring in place and slowly spread along the silver loop until the entire piece of jewelry was gold. He smiled as he handed back to her. Claire put it on her finger and examined it on her extended hand.

"It's different, but I like it."

"Good, because I can't change it be back," he laughed.

* * *

The cold night of New York City stung the diseased lungs of Samson Grey as he exited his car and began down the alley he parked in front of. The dumpster on the dimly lit side street was exactly where it was supposed to be. The briefcase underneath it was where it was supposed to be also.

The taxidermist pulled out the plain aluminum case and slid it on top of the dumpster it was once concealed under. Flicking up the tabs keeping the case shut, he grinned at the contents: a syringe filled with a clear liquid, a familiar hunting knife, a few stacks of hundred dollar bills, and scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. He shut the case and turned to get back into his car.

* * *

Peter's cell phone buzzed from the table next to the hospital bed. He turned and looked at it from where he laid cramped on the small bed, his head still rested on Emma's shoulder as she slept. Normal visitors probably weren't allowed to lay in bed with a patient, but two employees of the hospital were allowed certain privileges.

After an internal debate of whether to answer the phone or not, he decide to check the name of the caller. He slowly moved to the phone, as not to wake Emma, and check the screen. He was pretty certain he would ignore the call, but when he saw the caller was his mother he figured he better answer.

"Hey, mom," he answered with a tired voice.

"Good morning, Peter," Angela responded, "I need to speak with you."

"Okay, what do you need to talk about?"

"I'd prefer to speak to you in person."

"Ma, I'm with Emma and she-"

"Peter, this is very important. I'll send someone over there to make sure Emma's fine and you may go straight back to her afterwards, but there's something I need to show you."

"Okay. Where are you?"

"There's a car waiting for you outside, the driver has the instructions."

"I'll see you soon."

Peter scribbled Emma a note and walked out to meet the car waiting for him.

* * *

Peter entered the elevator of the posh apartment building and pressed the "P" button to begin his ascent to the penthouse, as his mother's driver had instructed him. He couldn't shake the inexplicable uneasy feeling he had as the elevator climbed. When his mother had something "important" to tell him it always seemed to pertain to some form of tragedy.

The ding of the elevator alerted Peter that he had arrived at the top floor. He stepped straight into the penthouse. The modern motif of the apartment, reminded him of a science lab, the overuse of white and flat surfaces kept him uneasy. The place didn't feel like a home.

"Peter, I am in here," Angela called from a room to his right.

He walked into what was assuredly a bedroom. His eyes fell instantly to the bed. The sheets were pulled over the head of the lifeless body in the bed. But, the more shocking thing to Peter though was the amount of blood staining the white sheet around the corpse's head.

"What the hell is going on, mom?"

Angela just nodded at the body. Her gesture was obvious. Peter didn't know if he wanted pull back the sheets, but he was compelled by curiosity. He pulled back the sheet to reveal a man missing the top of his head. It wouldn't have come as such a shock if it had been anyone else.

"I don't understand. How could someone-" Peter stopped, his voice trailing off at the pure shock of the moment.

"A sedative, injected in his neck while he was sleeping, his power was useless while he was unconscious," Angela announced far to calm for the situation, pointing at the syringe on the nightstand next to the Haitian's lifeless corpse.

"This wasn't Gabriel, I promise, it can't be," he began to explain desperately.

"I know, Peter. Though, this has very much to do with Sylar."

"What do you know?" Peter asked after a pause, knowing full well his mother was holding out on him.

"I know René's ability will help finally stop Sylar," she continued nonchalantly.

"Stop him? Mom, he's different, he's changed. He's not killing anymore."

"Changed?" her tone was cutting, "Peter, 'changed,' does not bring my son back!"

It struck Peter, what was going on. Her whole plan was revealed in one emotional outburst. He felt the anger boiling up inside of him.

"This is all about revenge for Nathan, isn't it? You feed this guy René's ability so he can go kill Gabriel. What about Claire? Your granddaughter?" he yelled at his mother.

"Well, he'll take her ability too, like I promised him. She'll play the victim, like she's used to, and she'll move along with our help. And, Sylar will pay for what he's done to our family."

"And, after that? Then, you've got a killer even more powerful than Sylar!"

"One that I can control, Peter," she assessed regaining her calm.

"Why are you telling me this?" Peter asked, wondering what motivation she had for revealing this to him.

"So, you know that there's nothing you can do to help them. With the Haitian's ability, there's nothing that can be done. And, if you get in Samson's way, I don't know what he'll do. So, just stay here and care for Emma and let the inevitable happen."

"Samson? Samson Gray? My God, ma, what have you done?"

"I've done what is necessary for this family to move on."

"What family?" he exploded, his yell filling the empty apartment. "We're the only one's left. Gabriel, Emma, and Claire are my family, now. And, I will make sure nothing happens to them."

"I am sorry you feel that way, Peter. But, you will always be my son," she noted looking down her nose at him.

Peter just turned and started to walk out the bedroom still steaming.

"His flight left five hours ago, Peter," she called to him as he left the room. "He's probably catching up to them right now. There's nothing you can do!"


	8. The Storm Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, places, or things nor the rights to them.**

**WARNING: I really messed up and meant to put this warning in a few chapters earlier, but you'll have to forgive me. This chapter will have character death in it. That being said, our main players are all okay for the time being, but I wanted to warn you before you read the chapter. I know some people like being warned about things like that, and I am truly sorry I didn't warn you earlier.**

**A/N: Please review if you have time, it always motivates me to write.  
**

**

* * *

**

Claire sat in the passenger's seat of the car, all the doors locked around her. She had her knees pulled up to her chest as she slowly rocked herself back and forth. In reality it had been about three minutes since she had first got into the car, but it seemed like three lifetimes. She sat there curled up in a ball worrying. Worrying about him. And, it annoyed her. She wondered how she had let it come to this, how had she let herself drop her guard, how had she let him nudge his way into her life to the point that now she worried about his wellbeing. Deep in thought, she jumped at the knock on the driver's side window.

When Claire saw Sylar's face on the other side of the glass, she scrambled over to the door and unlocked it. He slid in to his seat, looking straight out the windshield for a long moment. She stared at his profile, studying him, hoping he would say anything.

"Keys?" he requested in a low tone still avoiding eye contact.

"Huh?" she questioned unfocused and distracted.

"The keys," this time he demanded a little sterner.

"Oh, sorry," she responded quietly.

Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out the keys to the car. She slowly offered them to Sylar, extending her arm cautiously towards him. As he reached out for the keys, she noticed the crimson staining his hand. Recoiling, she asked him the one thing she had to know. It wasn't a question; it was a fragment of a question, two words. But, if he had changed, if he had left the other Sylar behind him, the question had to be asked.

"Did you-?" she stuttered eyeing his bloody hands.

He looked down at his hands, understanding exactly what she as was asking. He wished he had killed the taxidermist. He had wanted to, not just to protect Claire, not just because of the hunger, not just for murdering his real mother or for selling a confused little boy to parents that would never understand him, but mostly because Sylar didn't want to accept that Samson Gray was a tangible vision of his own future. Despite all of his powers, all of his conquests, Samson Gray was still a pathetic man that would die alone with nothing to show for his life. And, whether Sylar died tomorrow or a millennium from now, he knew he would end up the same way. He wished he could tell Claire her tormentor was dead, even if it meant she would only see him as the monster she thought he still was, because, at least then, one of them could have peace.

"No," he answered, pulling his gaze up to meet hers.

Sylar saw something in her eyes he hadn't expected. She was relieved. She didn't want him to be a murderer again. Half of an idle smile flashed across his face but quickly faded as his eyes elevated to examine the scarlet halo around her scalp.

"Claire, I am sorry-" he began.

"Don't be sorry. You saved me," she interrupted sounding embarrassed.

"Saved you? I let him get inside your head. I wasn't strong enough," he corrected.

"I've had my head cut open before," she paused realizing that wasn't the best place to start, but she continued explaining anyway, "I've jumped off buildings. I've broken bones. It's not about him being inside my head, it's about himtaking _my_ ability."

"But-" he started to counter. But, the narrow eyes that stared back at him let him know who was going to win the argument. "Okay."

"Let's just get out of here," she insisted.

Sylar obeyed, turning the keys in the ignition, and leading the car out of the parking garage.

* * *

Samson Grey sat with his back still against the concrete wall, an uneasy look on his blood soaked face. After remaining there for a long while, he stood to walk to his car. Every step down the stairs he replayed his encounter with Sylar in more detail. He was sure he had given his son something to thing about, but he wasn't sure he had distracted him enough to make a mistake. Either way he had a phone call to make, and he wasn't looking forward to making it.

Creeping into his car, he pulled out the cell phone from the glove compartment and stared at it for a long time. Finally, he dialed the only number in the contact list.

"Hello… No… I don't know if I can… No, I don't care if he's my son; it's just going to be harder than I thought… What do you mean a pick-up?... New York? No, no," he paused to cough, "I don't have time to run an errand for you in New York… Yes… I understand… Okay what's the address?"

He growled as he turned the key to start his car after throwing the phone back into the glove box. Samson didn't like the idea of letting the trail of his son and that amazing ability go cold, but she was the boss. She really likes being the boss, he thought as he headed east, back to where his deranged road trip had begun.

They cleaned up at a gas station, so they wouldn't have to explain why they both looked like they were pulled off the screen of a "slasher" movie while checking into the hotel. Claire and Sylar had driven all day since their morning encounter with Samson without stopping, apart from their brief hygienic pull-off at said gas station.

"So, you're done talking?" Claire wondered sitting on the bed of the hotel room, noting her companion's lack of communication.

"I am just thinking," he responded quietly.

"So, think _with_ me. Do you think he'll come back?" she asked about her stalker.

"Yep," he answered quickly.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he answered already starting to sound annoyed.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm the one that he's trying to get to," she half-yelled, getting equally annoyed.

"It's not just you!" he yelled erupting violently. He, then, walked to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Claire sat on the bed in shock. She wondered what had happened to transform him so much so fast. Her thoughts were interrupted by the crash that came from the bathroom. Rushing over to the door, she gently knocked on the door.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

There was no response.

"I am coming in," she warned before turning the knob and sliding into the restroom.

Upon entering the bathroom it wasn't hard to tell what had happened. The shattered mirror, the trail of drops of blood dotting the floor, and Sylar sitting against the far wall on the floor all told a story. He sat there breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied from battering his own reflection in the mirror, his glassy eyes staring straight ahead.

Claire looked down at him and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her heart ached for him. There was something wrong; something in that stairwell had changed in him.

"Okay," she said soothingly, "That's alright."

Retrieving a washcloth from the towel rack, she turned on the sink and dampened the piece of material. She weaved her way next to Sylar, avoiding the broken fragments of mirror as she glided across the room. She thought she would always be terrified of him, especially when he had blood covered his hands, but there on the bathroom floor, he looked like an exhausted and defeated man, not an egotistical serial killer.

"Let me see your hand," she commanded softly, as she knelt at his side.

Sylar complied, still avoiding eye contact. He flinched to her touch as she put one hand under his bloody left hand, and used the other to start cleaning his knuckles. The cheerleader's ability pushed most of the small shards out of his hand, but Claire had to pull out the larger ones lodged deeper inside him.

"And the other one," she insisted after cleaning his left hand.

He complied again, turning slightly to face her to give better access to his right hand. Claire continued to tend to him in silence, until she had removed all the offending glass and cleaned away the blood. She dropped the now pink washcloth in front of her, and sat back against the wall, mimicking his position.

They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, for a long time until Sylar finally broke the silence.

"It's my father," his choked out, still not turning to face her.

"What?" she questioned keeping her tone gentle.

"It's my dad. The man that attacked you," he explained simply.

"Oh," she said stunned.

"Claire, I am sorry," he said not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

"It's not your fault," she whispered.

Claire brought her hand to his cheek, forcing him to face her. She could feel the rough scratch of his facial hair on her palm. He raised his gaze to meet hers, piercing her with his dark hooded eyes.

"It's not your fault," she reiterated softer and quieter.

Slowly, he brought his hand up to hers, capturing it slowly. He held it for only a second before pulling it off of his face and, even though his heart was pounding in his chest, he placed it back down at her side where it belonged. Again, they sat next to each other in silence, and again, after a long wait, Sylar broke the silence.

"Are you hungry?" he asked in a hushed insignificant voice.

"Always," she sighed, trying to lighten the mood on the bathroom floor.

Sylar let his head lightly fall back to the wall behind him, as small smile spread across his face.

"Then, let's go get food."

"Alright, then get out of here," she commanded playfully pushing his shoulder, "I am going to take a shower."

"Okay," he chuckled standing up and leaving the bathroom.

He walked over to the bed and collapsed onto the comforter as he heard the shower start. Slowly, he fell asleep wondering what had just happened in the bathroom.

About forty-five minutes later he woke up to the sound of the bathroom door closing. He poked his head up to see her leaving the bathroom.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, poking fun at the length of her preparations.

"Are you?" she asked, noting that he was still half asleep.

"Yeah," he answered through a yawn, standing and walking to the door.

Sylar opened the door for her, and followed into the hallway. It was only until they got into that hallway that he noticed her. Maybe it was the lighting; maybe he finally shook off the haze from the short nap, but the man that was always so focused on details, finally became aware of the blonde that walked next to him. He couldn't help but stare. He was amazed: how can someone make a plain black hoodie, a gray tank top, and jeans look so… perfect.

"What?" Claire asked half-annoyed, noticing him staring at her.

"Huh?" he said, breaking out of the spell she had him under.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh, uh, nothing," said nervously, diverting his eyes.

* * *

"You had to pick this pizza parlor," he prodded.

They looked very out of place in the family pizza parlor, especially, with a seven-year-old's birthday party having completely taken over the restaurant.

"What?" she wondered, smiling as a gang of kids ran by their booth.

"It's chaos."

"They're kids."

"They're monsters," Sylar joked taking a bite of pizza, obviously trying to get on Claire's nerves.

"No, they are not. How is he a monster?" she nodded behind him, at little boy playing a vintage crane game, with little success. The boy, now on his toes, pressed his face against the casement, eyeing a specific stuffed animal, a duck. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose, brushed his straight blond hair out of his eyes, and put another quarter into the machine. The three-hooked crane lowered, and grasped nothing but air.

"You're right, he's not monster; he's just not very bright."

"Shut up," she faked anger, her heartbreaking for the little boy.

"He's never getting that duck, the crane isn't going hold anything that heavy. That's how they make their money."

"Whatever. He's going to get it this time," Claire wished, leaning in watching more intently as the boy put another quarter into the machine.

The crane hovered over the ultimate prize. It lowered and grasped around the head of the duck. Pulling the stuffed animal out of the sea of cheap plush toys, the hook seemed hold on to the duck by and invisible string, impossibly grasping the toy. Before the toy dropped into to where the boy could receive his prize, Claire noticed Sylar looking on, his right index finger barely extended holding the duck up telekinetically. After raising both arms in triumph, the boy grabbed the duck and ran off still celebrating. She looked over at Sylar, who was smirking in that familiar narcissistic way.

"Don't be so proud of yourself," she chastised playfully.

"You're welcome," he told her through a smirk, understanding how badly she wanted the boy to win.

His sarcastic pleasantry was met with an over-the-top eye roll.

"What else can you do?" she questioned, changing the subject.

"What?"

"Moving stuff with your mind, seen that one; electricity, seen it. You got to have some other useful tricks."

He looked at her hand, nodding to a piece of jewelry on right ring finger.

"Let me see your ring," he requested.

She removed it and dropped it into Sylar's out stretched hand. He closed his eyes as he held in between his thumb and forefinger. Deep in concentration he spoke with his eyes closed, even though Claire could see his pupils darting around behind his eyelids.

"The emerald was mined in Khewra, Pakistan and shipped to China, where it was cut and set in stainless steel. Then, after a stop in customs in California, it was shipped to a small jewelry shop in the Music City Mall in Odessa, Texas. Three people tried it on before a cheerleader and her mom walk in to the store. She tries it on," he explained, changing tenses as if he was actually watching the events happen right in front of him. "It's too expensive. She bargains with her mom, who finally budges, giving into the persistency. It doesn't leave her finger very often anymore."

Claire smiled at the, now, shared memory. Her eyes widen as the vivid gold color originated at where his fingertips held the ring in place and slowly spread along the silver loop until the entire piece of jewelry was gold. He smiled as he handed back to her. Claire put it on her finger and examined it on her extended hand.

"It's different, but I like it."

"Good, because I can't change it be back," he laughed.

* * *

The cold night of New York City stung the diseased lungs of Samson Grey as he exited his car and began down the alley he parked in front of. The dumpster on the dimly lit side street was exactly where it was supposed to be. The briefcase underneath it was where it was supposed to be also.

The taxidermist pulled out the plain aluminum case and slid it on top of the dumpster it was once concealed under. Flicking up the tabs keeping the case shut, he grinned at the contents: a syringe filled with a clear liquid, a familiar hunting knife, a few stacks of hundred dollar bills, and scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. He shut the case and turned to get back into his car.

* * *

Peter's cell phone buzzed from the table next to the hospital bed. He turned and looked at it from where he laid cramped on the small bed, his head still rested on Emma's shoulder as she slept. Normal visitors probably weren't allowed to lay in bed with a patient, but two employees of the hospital were allowed certain privileges.

After an internal debate of whether to answer the phone or not, he decide to check the name of the caller. He slowly moved to the phone, as not to wake Emma, and check the screen. He was pretty certain he would ignore the call, but when he saw the caller was his mother he figured he better answer.

"Hey, mom," he answered with a tired voice.

"Good morning, Peter," Angela responded, "I need to speak with you."

"Okay, what do you need to talk about?"

"I'd prefer to speak to you in person."

"Ma, I'm with Emma and she-"

"Peter, this is very important. I'll send someone over there to make sure Emma's fine and you may go straight back to her afterwards, but there's something I need to show you."

"Okay. Where are you?"

"There's a car waiting for you outside, the driver has the instructions."

"I'll see you soon."

Peter scribbled Emma a note and walked out to meet the car waiting for him.

* * *

Peter entered the elevator of the posh apartment building and pressed the "P" button to begin his ascent to the penthouse, as his mother's driver had instructed him. He couldn't shake the inexplicable uneasy feeling he had as the elevator climbed. When his mother had something "important" to tell him it always seemed to pertain to some form of tragedy.

The ding of the elevator alerted Peter that he had arrived at the top floor. He stepped straight into the penthouse. The modern motif of the apartment, reminded him of a science lab, the overuse of white and flat surfaces kept him uneasy. The place didn't feel like a home.

"Peter, I am in here," Angela called from a room to his right.

He walked into what was assuredly a bedroom. His eyes fell instantly to the bed. The sheets were pulled over the head of the lifeless body in the bed. But, the more shocking thing to Peter though was the amount of blood staining the white sheet around the corpse's head.

"What the hell is going on, mom?"

Angela just nodded at the body. Her gesture was obvious. Peter didn't know if he wanted pull back the sheets, but he was compelled by curiosity. He pulled back the sheet to reveal a man missing the top of his head. It wouldn't have come as such a shock if it had been anyone else.

"I don't understand. How could someone-" Peter stopped, his voice trailing off at the pure shock of the moment.

"A sedative, injected in his neck while he was sleeping, his power was useless while he was unconscious," Angela announced far to calm for the situation, pointing at the syringe on the nightstand next to the Haitian's lifeless corpse.

"This wasn't Gabriel, I promise, it can't be," he began to explain desperately.

"I know, Peter. Though, this has very much to do with Sylar."

"What do you know?" Peter asked after a pause, knowing full well his mother was holding out on him.

"I know René's ability will help finally stop Sylar," she continued nonchalantly.

"Stop him? Mom, he's different, he's changed. He's not killing anymore."

"Changed?" her tone was cutting, "Peter, 'changed,' does not bring my son back!"

It struck Peter, what was going on. Her whole plan was revealed in one emotional outburst. He felt the anger boiling up inside of him.

"This is all about revenge for Nathan, isn't it? You feed this guy René's ability so he can go kill Gabriel. What about Claire? Your granddaughter?" he yelled at his mother.

"Well, he'll take her ability too, like I promised him. She'll play the victim, like she's used to, and she'll move along with our help. And, Sylar will pay for what he's done to our family."

"And, after that? Then, you've got a killer even more powerful than Sylar!"

"One that I can control, Peter," she assessed regaining her calm.

"Why are you telling me this?" Peter asked, wondering what motivation she had for revealing this to him.

"So, you know that there's nothing you can do to help them. With the Haitian's ability, there's nothing that can be done. And, if you get in Samson's way, I don't know what he'll do. So, just stay here and care for Emma and let the inevitable happen."

"Samson? Samson Gray? My God, ma, what have you done?"

"I've done what is necessary for this family to move on."

"What family?" he exploded, his yell filling the empty apartment. "We're the only one's left. Gabriel, Emma, and Claire are my family, now. And, I will make sure nothing happens to them."

"I am sorry you feel that way, Peter. But, you will always be my son," she noted looking down her nose at him.

Peter just turned and started to walk out the bedroom still steaming.

"His flight left five hours ago, Peter," she called to him as he left the room. "He's probably catching up to them right now. There's nothing you can do!"


End file.
